


Nothing That Matters Is Easy

by Scruggzi, TheInspectorsSecretStash



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: 1930s psychiatric 'care', Childhood Trauma, Domestic Fluff, Established Phrack, F/M, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues, Phrack parenting Jane, Survivor Guilt, depictions of self harm, remembering war
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-09-14
Packaged: 2019-07-02 23:08:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15806406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scruggzi/pseuds/Scruggzi, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheInspectorsSecretStash/pseuds/TheInspectorsSecretStash
Summary: Phryne returns from a case in Sydney to celebrate Jane's 16th birthday, but Anna Ross' treatment is having some unpredictable effects and Jane has been keeping secrets.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> One of the things that always struck me about Jane, is that she seems to become very stable, very quickly, despite everything she has been through. I wanted to write something that looks at the consequences of the trauma she's suffered and the complex relationship she has with Anna Ross and Phryne, who have both taken on the role of her mother, but in very different ways. I'd written a few chapters set after Ring of Roses and plotted out a case fic that never ended up going anywhere, then when I showed TheInspectorsSecretStash she offered to write the ending which turned out to be way better than what I had planned. It's still in the same timeline as Ring of Roses but it's a completely stand alone story and you don't need to have read it to follow this one.
> 
> This is an attempt to have a look at what parenting a traumatised teenager might be like for Phryne and Jack, and it's not exactly a nice story. We've included general trigger warnings for self harm, mental illness/institutions and survivors guilt for those who might want to avoid any of those topics.
> 
> The first chapter though is almost pure fluff. Just to lull you all into a false sense of security.

“This way Uncle Jack!” Jane’s face was alight with the unrestrained enthusiasm only ancient Egypt seemed able to inspire in her.

She dragged him down the corridor of the museum towards the Egyptology exhibit, explaining at length and in considerable detail the processes used to extract the internal organs of those prepared for burial in a pharaoh’s tomb. The fact that she had herself once been kidnapped by a man who had performed those exact procedures on at least three living people did not appear to faze her in the least. In fact, she seemed to remember the whole nightmarish experience as a marvellous adventure. This was categorically not how Jack remembered it, but he would hardly expect anything less from Phryne Fisher’s adopted daughter.

“Here she is!”

Jane had come to a halt outside a glass case containing a small stone statue of a pharaoh, complete with a long, pointed beard. It also had elaborately carved, naked breasts; the rest of her body was shaped like a lioness, sat back on her haunches with paws outstretched like a miniature version of the Great Sphinx at Gisa. This one however, had rounded lioness ears poking out of her headdress further identifying her as an Egyptian queen, although not one with which Jack was familiar.

“Queen Hatshepsut of the Eighteenth Dynasty.” Jack read off the card beside the artefact.

“She was the longest serving Egyptian queen and one of the most successful and powerful Pharaohs of all time. She was only the second woman ever to rule Egypt, but she united the two Egyptian kingdoms and conquered Nubia.” Jane rattled off, as good as a guidebook.

“Why does she have a beard?” Jack examined the object with interest.

“So men would take her seriously.” Jane retorted in clipped tones that were pure Phryne. Not even sixteen years old and already the girl was a force to be reckoned with.

“I suppose that’s one approach. I must suggest it to Miss Fisher the next time she falls afoul of the Chief Commissioner, although I’m not entirely sure it would suit her.”

Jane giggled at this suggestion.

“I don’t think the Eighteenth is quite my dynasty,” came a voice from behind them. “Cleopatra on the other hand, much more my style, and I seem to remember that _someone_ still owes me a Mark Antony.”

The Honourable Phryne Fisher, magnificent as any monarch, was striding towards them in a swirl of red velvet and ivory silk, glowing like Ra himself.

“Miss Phryne!” Jane wrapped overjoyed arms around her guardian. “We didn’t expect you back until next week.”

“Well I couldn’t miss your birthday, Jane. Not when I have it on good authority that Mr Butler will be making his famous chocolate gateaux.”

Jack who had slouched against the display case to enjoy her entrance, stepped forward once Jane had returned her attention to the exhibit and stole a kiss, glancing around first to make sure no museum personnel were lurking behind any of the exhibits ready to take offence.

“You’re slipping Jack. It’s not often I can sneak up on you.” She replied a little breathlessly. Jack Robinson’s kisses were always scandalous things and they hadn’t seen each other in more than two weeks.

“Well I wouldn’t want to deny you a grand entrance, Miss Fisher, I know how much you enjoy them.” He was smirking at her in a way that demanded instant retaliation.

“My case in Sydney was over before it began. The evidence against Rosie’s sister was so flimsy I can’t believe it would ever have gone to trial even without my help. I only stayed around to make sure the imbeciles in their police department finally arrested the right man.”

He looked so awkward at the mention of his ex-wife Phryne almost felt remorseful, but not quite. She had obtained a considerable amount of useful intelligence about Jack on her trip to Sydney and she was practically bursting with the restraint of not teasing him about it.

He coughed. “That’s good. I’m sure you were a great help, as always. Um...you two...I mean you and Rosie are...”

“Relax Jack, relations are perfectly cordial. In fact,” she leant in until her face was very close to his and murmured, “she may have been persuaded to divulge all manner of privileged information. An elopement, Inspector? I never would have guessed.”

He raised his eyebrows mildly, too relieved to know that Phryne and his ex-wife were not at loggerheads to ponder too deeply the danger they posed as a united front. Besides, he was fairly sure that Rosie would not have given everything away...

“Tell me Jack.” Phryne’s face was telegraphing his favourite kind of trouble. “What made you decide on the kilt?”

_Damn!_ Still, he wasn’t about to be embarrassed by the choice, especially not when she was looking at him like that. He responded in nonchalant tones, gracefully accented by innocent eyebrows.

“Honouring my family ancestry. I am a very traditional man."

That statement had never been especially accurate and they both knew it. Phryne however, could not resist rising to the bait, her eyebrows shot up and her eyes widened in delight. She had spent some time in Scotland and was very well acquainted with what was traditionally worn under the kilt, or more specifically, what wasn’t.

“How traditional exactly?” She asked.

He gave her a lopsided smile that told her he knew exactly what she was thinking. As if she would be thinking about anything else after being away for over a fortnight.

“I like to think I paid attention to all the finer details.”

“Jack Robinson, if this is an attempt to wrangle a marriage proposal out of me” - that flustered him and Phryne took great satisfaction as his mouth dropped open and he goggled like a fish. She pulled him down by the lapels till his lips were almost touching hers once more - “then keep it up.”

She really had missed him rather a lot.

At that point, Jane began miming an exaggerated vomiting fit into a stone sarcophagus, thus rescuing the Inspector from any possible need to arrest himself for public indecency.

 

***

 

They didn’t linger long at the museum after that, although it was a great deal too long for Phryne’s taste. She was determined that Murdoch Foyle and his vicious delusions on the subject of ancient Egypt would not rob her daughter of what was clearly a great passion, but truthfully, she found these ancient corpses more disturbing than the fresh ones she encountered routinely during murder investigations. She forced herself to smile beatifically and feign interest as Jane explained the symbolic meaning behind the different icons and the various mundane and gruesome uses for the implements secured behind glass.

Phryne allowed herself to lean into Jack as she held his arm, not that she needed his support of course, but she couldn’t deny that it was welcome. Especially here where she had to push back the shadow of her sister. Phryne gritted her teeth and refused to see Janey’s spirit amongst the dusty relics in this lifeless room, where her killer would have had her rest. That had not been Janey in life, it would not be her in death.

Jane looked up at a question from Jack about a selection of mummified cats that lay beside a series of feline statues in sandstone and smaller figures in jade an onyx. As Phryne watched her launch into an energetic explanation of the significance of the goddess Bast and her role in Egyptian mythology, she felt a genuine smile chase the forced one from her face. It wasn’t such a lifeless room really, not with Jane in it.

After a little over 45 minutes of this, in which both Jack and Phryne learned more about the irrigation of the Nile Valley than either of them wanted to know, Phryne suggested a trip to Luna Park for ice creams. The other two agreed (Jane a little reluctantly), although her spirits were buoyed when they exited via the little gift shop and Jack treated her to a book she had been looking for on Egyptian myths by the pioneering Egyptologist Margaret Murray, and Phryne found her a small silver pendant in the shape of an ankh, the hieroglyphic symbol for life. Jane would turn sixteen the following day and Jack, admonishing Phryne for her lack of patience, had the book wrapped and stored safely in the pocket of his overcoat to wait for the morning. Phryne, waving away his objections with a casual, “Where’s the fun in that?” fastened the pendant around Jane’s neck, under her silky chignon of dark blonde hair, dropping a kiss on her bare head before helping her replace her hat.

The trip to Luna Park was a lot more to Phryne’s taste, and whilst it might have been lacking in hieroglyphics and mummified felines, Jane still managed to enjoy herself; especially when Phryne won her an enormous (and honestly rather tasteless) stuffed dog at the shooting range. He was promptly christened Anubis, despite being far more spaniel than jackal. Jack would probably have equalled the feet, much to the irritation of the stall holder, but at the last moment Phryne swept past as if to examine the prizes lined up on the next stall and trailed the tips of her fingers gently over his backside, causing his final shot to go wide.

“Not very sporting, Miss Fisher.” He admonished, glaring at her.

“I don’t know what you mean, Inspector.” She replied with a moue of pure innocence.

He paid the stall holder for the rounds and collected a consolation prize in the shape of a small and faintly disturbing china pig wearing a sailor’s hat, which he regarded with mild scepticism; he couldn’t for the life of him imagine why anyone would want such a thing. As Phryne took his arm once again he leant in to whisper in her ear.

“You know very well what I mean and rest assured you _will_ be made to pay.”

Her reply held no hint of contrition whatsoever. “Hmm. That sounds promising.”  

At this point, Jane decided to put a lid on the embarrassing escalation of their banter by pointedly asking for an ice cream. The three of them ate contentedly, enjoying the warm October sunshine.

It had been a little over two years since Jane first came to live with Miss Phryne and she could hardly believe how much her life had changed. It wasn’t just the things; the books, the clothes, being the kind of girl who went to school (most of the time) rather than the kind who had to lie, cheat and steal her way to every hot meal. It was the gentle way Dot would brush her hair and the way Mr Butler made her a soft-boiled egg with toast soldiers when she caught a cold. The way Cec and Bert had colluded with her to sneak an ever-expanding army of garden gnomes into Miss Phryne’s garden, after that time she twisted her ankle on one during a case. (This ongoing war of botanical attrition had made Miss Phryne so furious she couldn’t stop laughing, and Uncle Jack had insisted with a twinkle in his eye that it wasn’t possible to arrest anyone for crimes against good taste in lawn ornamentation, as the state of Victoria had yet to make gnome ownership a criminal offence.)

_Uncle_ Jack. That had been Miss Phryne’s idea.

He had been a regular visitor at Wardlow since they had returned to Melbourne the year before. News of Anna Ross’ worsening health had led Jane to abandon her international adventures – including a much-anticipated trip to Egypt – and Miss Phryne flown her home. These days Uncle Jack more or less lived with them too, and whilst Jane was not, by nature or experience, a girl who instinctively trusted policemen - quite the opposite – for him, she was willing to make an exception.

At first, Inspector Robinson, as he was then, had seemed stern and, if she was honest, a little intimidating, but Jane had decided early on that if Phryne trusted him, that was enough for her. Besides, he did help her escape from a crazed killer that time she was kidnapped and locked in a basement _and_ pulled her mother off a rooftop when she had one of her bad turns. It was easy to see why Miss Phryne liked having him around.

Once he had started to join them for dinners and then (somewhat bashfully) for breakfasts at Wardlow, Jane began to get to know him better and decided she liked him a lot. He had read all sorts of books that he was always willing to lend to her, and he helped her with her German (as a fair trade she had helped him improve his French). When she started studying Macbeth at school he explained iambic pentameter and did a recitation at the dinner table with different voices for all the witches - much to Miss Phryne’s amusement.

It was that evening he had suggested to Jane that she call him Jack. She had been a little wrong footed by it at the time.

“But I don’t even call Miss Phryne, Phryne.” She had explained awkwardly.

“She’s right Jack, you need a family honorific.” The woman in question had interjected. “How about Uncle Jack?”

This was agreeable to all parties - in fact Jane didn’t think she’d ever seen the newly christened Uncle Jack smile so much, even when Mr Butler made gratin.

Jane wasn’t sure she had ever really had parents exactly. She assumed her father was dead; in her experience most people’s fathers were dead. Her mother, Anna Ross, had had very little to say about him other than that he had ‘gone away’ because of Him. ‘Him’ the amorphous boogieman of her childhood, invisible but ever present, ready to jump out from under every bed and send her mother into a nervous panic. In her more sentimental moments, Jane had wished her father would return to look after her; in her more cynical ones she had wondered if ‘He’ was little more than a moniker for a dead man’s temper, in which case she was better off without him.

Anna had been kind and loving in as much as she could be, but had needed to be looked after herself, and Jane’s earliest memories had been of caring for her and not the other way around. Now Miss Phryne had paid for her mother to stay in the Meadow Falls Sanitorium, where she was being given treatment which the doctors said would make her better. Jane had her doubts about this, but much as she felt she should take responsibility for Anna herself, if she was honest, she preferred being able to go to school. Still, if everything went to plan, things for her mother should improve, or at least they would if Jane had anything to do with it.

Now, clutching a stuffed toy she was really several years too old for, and only half listening to the affectionate bickering of the adults behind her, she felt a warm, swollen tightness in her chest almost enough for tears. Here on the cusp of adulthood (as she considered it), with her sixteenth birthday only a sleep away, it felt as if a childhood she had never had had been returned to her, and there was a cruel and insistent voice in the back of her head insisting such things could not come without a cost.

She shook off the thought, stealing a swift look behind her. Miss Phryne was holding on to Jack’s arm with the remains of her ice cream in her other hand - his had long since disappeared, probably because Phryne loved stealing his food - she was apparently filling him in on the details of her case in Sydney.

Jane banished her fears and forced a huge grin onto her face, yelling, “Race you to the carousel!” before darting off into the crowd. Not being people to resist a challenge, Phryne and Jack exchanged a look of silent amusement and followed her, laughing as they ran.     


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane has a plan to help her mother get better, but it's important that Phryne and Jack not find out what she's up to...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a TW for self harm. It wasn't the easiest thing to write, the idea was to explore the way adolescents process and rationalise trauma and the borderline between a child's game and the kind of rituals - like prayer - which adults turn to when there is nothing else to be done.
> 
> If anyone was wondering the Scruggzi fic A Warm Welcome Home was originally placed just after Jack and Phryne head upstairs.

Dinner at Wardlow was a gentle affair after the afternoon’s entertainment. Phryne had barely had time to wash and rush out of the house to join them after a long flight and was feeling a little fatigued. Jack, sensing her mood, did not try to draw her too much in conversation, preferring to focus his energy on Mr Butler’s excellent lamb cutlets, sending affectionate glances towards her over bites of his salad. Jane too was quiet; it was her birthday tomorrow, and the day after she would have a party at Wardlow which she was very much looking forward to. It was tomorrow she was not so sure of; the three of them would make the trip to Meadow Falls Sanitorium to visit her mother, and Jane was becoming increasingly worried about what she might find when they got there.

Miss Phryne had told her that she did not have to make the visit on her actual birthday if she did not want to, that they could do the trip another day and spend her birthday however she pleased. That was out of the question as far as Jane was concerned; she had missed too many birthdays with Anna Ross after welfare had separated them. Also, as horrible as these visits had become, the nurses had told Jane that her regular presence was helping her mother’s recovery.

Jane knew she should make these trips more often, spend less time with her friends and more time with the mother who needed her, but every visit came with a wave of anxiety and guilt that left her shaken and out of sorts, sometimes for days afterwards. It was her fault her mother was in this state, suffering the side effects of the treatment program. She had agreed to it. She could have said no. Now she owed it to her mother to help in any way she could.

Jane set her jaw and took a determined bite of lamb. It was no good relying on doctors to make her mother better. She had a plan of her own and now she finally had the last thing she needed to execute it. Tonight, was the night to find out if all her research was going to pay off.

After they had finished their strawberry pavlova, Phryne declared with an exaggerated yawn that she intended to retire early, whilst shooting Jack a look which threatened to set the furniture on fire. Not being a stupid man, the Inspector bid Jane good night and followed Miss Fisher up the stairs with a slight, satisfied smile.

After chatting to Mr Butler for a few minutes as he cleared away the plates, Jane wandered from the dining room and headed into the parlour. Judging by the looks they were giving each other, neither of the detectives would descend the stairs again for some time that night, if at all. This would make the execution of her plan much easier. However, when attempting to commit a crime in the household of Melbourne’s most notorious private detective, it was wise not to leave matters to chance, especially when the victim of said crime was a talented police officer in his own right.

After about half an hour, when she was satisfied that the two of them were definitely otherwise occupied, Jane slipped into the hallway. She stilled, listening carefully. She could hear the sounds of Mr Butler washing up in the kitchen and the faint hint of a giggle from Miss Phryne’s room, which she did her best not to analyse in too much detail. Uncle Jack’s coat and hat were hanging on the customary pegs by the door, and a brief rummage in the pocket located the book which he had bought for her at the museum. It was wrapped and tied with ribbon but would be easy enough to rewrap and replace before morning. Hardly even a theft really; it was her birthday present after all. And she needed this book for her plan; that was why she had requested it.

Jane mounted the stairs to her bedroom as quietly as she could, unusually grateful as she did so that Dot, whose company she had always enjoyed very much, no longer lived at Wardlow. There was no-one to spot her, so she didn’t trouble to conceal her ill-gotten bounty as she moved quickly to the privacy of her bedroom and locked the door behind her. She had everything she needed.

The sun was setting in a bloody riot of rose and gold, her windows were positioned perfectly to capture the spectacular sight, and she threw them open, gazing in awe at the sun slipping below the horizon. Silently, she traced the symbol of the ankh in the air with her finger, then murmured a prayer to Ra, god of the sun, bringer of life. The true prayers to the Egyptian gods were long since lost, so Jane had made her own, loving those ancient deities with the blind, relentless infatuation of a teenage girl with an obsession; somewhere between a child’s game and a religious fervour.

The extent of this obsession was something Jane had carefully and tactfully hidden from Miss Phryne. Ancient Egypt was a difficult subject for her guardian and Jane was grateful that she was willing to encourage her at all in her academic interest. There were some things a parent simply doesn’t need to know.  

One of those things was Jane’s plan to help her mother. The idea had come to her after a conversation with Dot following a particularly unpleasant visit to Meadow Falls. Anna Ross had been confused and disoriented for most of it and the side effects of the treatment program, which included violent seizures, had frightened Jane. She had confided her fears to Miss Phryne, who had hugged her close and explained that her mother’s disease was like a fever, and sometimes, an illness has to get worse before it can get better. They needed to be strong for Anna now, Phryne had said, and Jane had promised that she would try. The pride she saw in her guardian’s face when she said that was almost unbearable, and Jane had swallowed her tears and put on her bravest face, just like Miss Phryne was doing.

Dot had been at Wardlow that evening. It was only a few weeks before the birth of little Penny Collins and Phryne had insisted she take the most comfortable seat in the parlour, along with a footstall to rest her swollen ankles. When Miss Phryne had been called to the kitchen to see Cec and Bert, who had arrived with a budgerigar they refused to discuss, Dot had fixed Jane with a shrewd expression and demanded to know what the matter was.

It had all come tumbling out in a storm of tears and snot. She was so afraid, she thought her mother might die. She thought that it was her fault for agreeing to this horrible treatment in the first place. Dot had held her gently against the swollen mass of her belly and smoothed Jane’s hair as she sobbed helplessly. Dot had promised Jane that she would pray for her mother, assured her that God had a plan for everyone, even when you couldn’t see it. She had said that everything would be alright. Jane was not so young as to be fooled when adults told her this, but she was grateful for the sentiment nonetheless.

When Phryne came back into the parlour and saw them huddled together, Jane sitting at Dot’s feet on her footstall, she sized the situation up immediately. Without a care for the danger it posed to the delicate, silver silk of her gown, Phryne knelt on the floor beside Dot’s chair and wrapped her arms around Jane as well. The three of them had sat like that until Jane’s sobs had stilled to the occasional hiccup, then Phryne had got up and called for Mr Butler who returned shortly with steaming mugs of cocoa. Jane’s even had a little shot of brandy in it. Then Phryne had sat her on the chaise, hugging her close and telling her tall tales from her childhood in Collingwood before the war, until Jane, exhausted from her tears, had fallen asleep against Miss Phryne’s chest, bathed in comfort and the warmth of the parlour fire.

It was the prayers that Jane was interested in tonight. Not to Dot’s God. She had never been entirely comfortable with him. Whenever her mother was sent into a frenzy of fear, terrified that ‘He’ was coming, that ‘He’ would get into the house, it was almost always accompanied by odd fragments of religious text - half remembered pieces of old dogma and stories, mixed together without any coherent order.

The gods and goddesses of Egypt, now, they were a different matter. Somehow, perhaps because so few people she had met seemed to know or care about them, Jane felt that those gods were special, something just for her. And, quietly and secretly, she prayed to all the deities she had discovered in the pages of her textbooks and made up little rituals of worship for them. She liked to think they would be happy to know that someone still cared, still remembered them. Tonight, she planned to ask for something in return.

Returning from the window to her bed she picked up the wrapped book that Uncle Jack had bought her at the museum. Carefully, making sure she didn’t tear or crease it, she eased off the paper and the ribbon and set them aside on her dressing table. The book was an anthology of myths, translated from hieroglyphics written on the walls of tombs and other surviving remnants of the ancient empire. There was a story in here that she knew about and had seen referenced in another text book but had never read.

The story was called _The Princess and the Demon_ , and it told of how the sister of Queen Nefu-Ra was taken ill and not even the most learned healers in the kingdom could cure her. So Nefu-Ra’s husband, the great king Rameses, prayed to Khonsu, God of the Moon, Destroyer of Demons, to bring a cure for the princess and save her from death. In the story, Khonsu threw out the demon that had possessed the queen’s sister and the princess returned to full health.

Jane pored over the text with all the gravity of a serious scholar, trying to work out how she might call upon this god to help her mother. The story talked about a prayer before the statue of Khonsu at Thebes, and she didn’t have a statue. There was a description though, Khonsu was always depicted as young, beautiful and with curly hair. Taking out a piece of drawing paper and some pencils from her bureau, Jane set to work at her desk. She drew a likeness of Khonsu in the Egyptian style, two-dimensional, with thick lines and bold colours. Behind him she drew a picture of the moon, so he would feel at home.

When she was done she took a deep breath, steadied herself and prepared for the next stage of her plan. The story had been clear about this, but she had already known it would be the case. Gods do not give favours for nothing. Even Dot’s god required a blood sacrifice, now replaced symbolically with wine (although as Jane understood it, the miracle of transubstantiation was supposed to transform that wine back into blood as it was drunk). Khonsu, from all she had read about him, was unlikely to be satisfied by wine.

Jane lowered herself to the floor and slid up a loose board under the rug beside her bed. In here she kept a few small and secret things. Things she had stolen. She did not do that very often anymore but occasionally felt the need to keep her hand in. You never know when your life will change, after all, so it does not do to let a skill atrophy. There was a small collection of marbles (those were taken from a girl at school who richly deserved it), a hairpin, taken from a market stall whilst the owner wasn’t looking, a lighter belonging to Miss Phryne (although to Jane’s knowledge she had never missed it), and Mr Butler’s second-best vegetable knife.

The room was very still. The breeze, which had been blowing off the sea earlier in the evening, had quieted and there were no sounds from the rest of the house, at least none that travelled this far. Jane felt her heart speed up in apprehension and excitement at what she was about to do. She was suddenly very aware of her own skin - it felt sensitised, tingling slightly as she moved through the balmy evening air towards the open window. With her, she took the knife, the lighter and the picture she had drawn of Khonsu, God of the Moon, Expeller of Demons.

She looked up into the sky outside her window and sure enough the moon had risen. The sun had completely set now, although the light was still visible on the horizon, blotting out all but the brightest of the stars. She laid the picture in front of her, so she could kneel before it as Rameses had done before the statue at Thebes and whispered her prayer.

“Khonsu, God of the Moon, Expeller of Demons. I beseech you on behalf of my mother Anna Ross. May you cleanse the darkness from her soul that she may again know peace.”

She had been rather pleased with that incantation, which she had written herself. In her opinion, it was much more poetic than the one in Margaret Murray’s book, so she felt alright about keeping it. Her voice was steady as she breathed the last line to the watching moon.

“I give this sacrifice of blood, that my prayers may be answered.”

She had put some thought into this. A cut to the hand, or the arm, would be noticed, remarked upon, and would call for a complicated explanation. She picked up the knife, her hand was trembling just a little. She sat back, stretching out her legs and placed the sharp edge of the blade against her knee. A cut on her knee could be easily explained away by some little trip or fall. It would not be the first time she had crashed her bicycle on the way to school.

Self-inflicted pain is of a very specific quality, different to the pain of abuse or accidental injury. It comes with frisson of fear, but one that edges towards excitement. She shuddered as the sharp edge of the blade kissed her skin but did not falter. She owed this sacrifice to her mother. It was her fault. She could have stopped it. Miss Phryne had asked her, told her, that she should be part of the decision about her mother’s treatment. She could have said no.

It didn’t really hurt that much. Mr Butler kept his kitchen equipment, even the spares, in good order and the knife was very sharp. But she had not been prepared for the rush of adrenaline that coursed through her the moment it sliced through her skin. There was a catharsis to this act, a kind of release, a bright red scream. The blood ran down the side of her leg faster than she expected, and she had to move quickly with a handkerchief to keep it off the carpet.

Her hands were steady now and a steely look of determination settled on her face. She touched her finger to the wound, the salt on her hand stinging more than the knife had done. She coated her finger in the scarlet liquid and reached for the picture. Slowly and carefully, she traced it over the image of Khonsu, once again forming the shape of the ankh. The symbol of life.

When she had finished, she bound the cut up tightly with her handkerchief. It wasn’t so deep, the blood had already slowed and by morning it would be a scab with any number of plausible explanations. This was her secret. Her private covenant with an all but forgotten god.

She rose to the window, the anointed drawing in one hand, Phryne’s lighter in the other. Reaching out wordlessly towards the moon, she set the page alight, letting the flaming paper float down towards the garden on the evening air. It had burnt to ash before it hit the ground. She took that as a good omen.

Jane left the window open; the night was warm, and she liked to have fresh air whilst she slept. She clambered under the cool sheets, eyes open, staring at the moon, still visible through the open window. The experience had left her buzzing with conflicting, ambivalent emotions she was unable to reconcile, and the cut on her knee was throbbing through her improvised bandage now, although she did her best to ignore it. At some level there was an elation. She had done something, she was fighting back against the unfairness of the world and on her side were ancient gods, known only to her and some other very clever scholars. At another, more sensible level, a rational voice in the back of her head - one that had often started to talk in Uncle Jack’s deep, calming tones - told her that she was a child, play acting, screaming into the darkness because there was nothing else left for her to do. This was not a reassuring sentiment, so she elected to ignore it.

Jane was a fighter by nature, and she tried to square up to that darkness, to stare it down and keep it at bay; she was sure that was what Miss Phryne would do. But she was not Miss Phryne, and alone in her bedroom, with only the moon for company, Jane Ross ushered in her sixteenth year by crying herself to sleep.       

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The book that Jane used for her ritual, and the story about Khonsu are real - as was Margaret Murray who was a total bad arse.
> 
> You can download a free copy here: https://archive.org/details/ancientegyptian13murr


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne and Jack take Jane to visit her mother at Meadow Falls Sanitorium

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short and sweet this one - in fact it's pretty fluffy. Thanks to everyone who's sticking with us for this story!

Jane woke early the next day and the first thing she saw as she opened her eyes was the wrapping paper and ribbon from her book, still sitting on her dresser. She uttered a small curse and jumped quickly out of bed. The handkerchief she had bound around her knee had come off in the night, but the cut had healed well enough and could be hidden easily under her stockings.

She dressed quickly and, after rewrapping her present, slipped downstairs to replace it in the Inspector’s coat pocket. Thankfully Miss Phryne’s love of sleeping late seemed to be contagious and he hadn’t yet gotten up for breakfast. Mr Butler would be up, but Jane was sure she could talk him round if he caught her. It was her birthday, after all. Luckily this proved unnecessary as Mr Butler was busy in the kitchen and she was able to replace the book without difficulty before joining him.             

It wasn’t long till Uncle Jack come downstairs; he held out his present, wished her a happy birthday, and kissed her on the forehead.  She thanked him with a hug, propping the book open against the milk so she could read and eat. Jack smiled fondly at her enthusiasm and after rolling his eyes a little at her flagrant anti-social behaviour, he took the opportunity to engross himself in the morning paper. It took less than three minutes for the Jane to find a truly fascinating new fact to share with him, and by the time Phryne joined them they were deep in scrambled eggs and conversation about Tutankhamun.

After breakfast they all went in different directions preparing for the trip to Meadow Falls. Mr. Butler had made a wonderful birthday cake for Jane, as well as a plethora of goodies for her mother, including scotch eggs, which Anna was especially fond of. After placing not one but two hampers filled with treats in the car, the three of them set off towards the sanitorium.

Jack had agreed to let Phryne drive, so they got to Meadow Falls a bit earlier than planned; between the sound of the wind and his running commentary on the speed limit there was not a lot of opportunity for conversation. Jane tried to read, as she often did when motoring with Miss Phryne, but her mind was too much on her mother to concentrate. When they exited the car, Jane stood and looked at the building, nervous, squiggling worms writhing in the pit of her stomach. She reached out without realizing it, until she felt a large firm hand enclosing hers. It was Uncle Jack. 

“We don’t have to go in if you’ve changed your mind. We can have a picnic, while Miss Fisher goes in and checks on your mother, and then we could go home.”

His eyes were kind, and there was something very solid in his stillness, as if whole worlds could dash themselves to pieces against him and he would still stand firm, holding her hand. It was easy to see why Miss Phryne liked him. Jane looked at her guardian for confirmation, and saw it, that unconditional support and love that she had slowly learned to trust. It gave her the strength she needed.

“No.” she said. “No, I want to go in. I’m just scared of what I’ll find.”

It was true, and it was not just her mother she was afraid to see. Every time she looked at Anna Ross there was the fear that this was her own future. Her mind was her most precious thing, something no one, not even the vile Miss Gaye and that evil bastard of a hypnotist, had been able to take from her. Her mother was proof that it could all be ripped away, lost to chaos and confusion. Her knee throbbed painfully, ready with the creeping thought that it might have already begun; sane people do not shed blood for old gods in return for gifts, however much they are wanted.

She stayed close to Jack as they went through to reception to find a nurse; it made her feel strangely grown up to walk with him like this – a young lady on her father’s arm. A world away from the life Anna Ross could have given her. Before long they were soon led out to the rose garden where several patients and staff were sitting, Jack and Phryne each carrying a hamper of food for their lunch. Jane scanned the crowd and found her mother.  She was smiling at a staff member who was helping her deadhead a large bush heavily laden with white roses, their petals covering the ground at Anna’s feet like virgin snow.

Her mother turned slowly to greet her; the woman was barely recognisable from the pale, waiflike figure who had arrived without notice at Wardlow years before - although Jane could not make up her mind if the change was for the better or not. The treatment she was undergoing was highly experimental; an act of desperation from Jane as her mother’s delusions had worsened and Jane had feared to lose her forever.

By the time Jane had consented to Anna’s inclusion on the new treatment program, her mother had barely known her surroundings and needed to be sedated often to keep her from harming herself. So, the sanitorium, directed by its somewhat formidable head physician Dr Anderson, had begun to inject her with insulin. The resulting controlled comas were supposed to restart Anna’s brain, clearing out the delusions and leaving her closer to her old self.

It seemed to be working at least a little. Anna was vague but cogent most of the time whilst awake, she knew who Jane was and seemed less inclined to panic and spout incoherent religious gibberish. It was a wonderful thing to have her mother back, but the recovery had not been without its costs.  The comas had begun to trigger seizures, even whilst she was awake. They were terrifying to witness; the rigid stuttering of her limbs and the vacancy of her face were horrible. The helplessness Jane felt as she looked on was worse.

Today though, Anna appeared to be doing well. Jane went to her and wrapped her in a hug, which was softer than those she remembered from childhood. The fluctuations in Anna’s insulin levels seemed to have altered her metabolism and she had ballooned in size, her features puffy and red in the heat of the summer day.

“Hello mother,” her greeting was meek and somewhat tentative.

“Oh Jane, look at you. You look lovely.” Her mother said and smoothed the hair away from her face as she drew back to smile at her. “Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

Jane could feel her fear fading fast. This was the mother that she knew, that she loved - sweet and kind and full of care and soft smiles. The woman who would read to her and feed her apple cakes when she was small. The mother she had missed for so long after welfare had split them apart.

Secret and silent inside her own head, Jane offered up a prayer of thanks to Khonsu, god of the moon for his blessing. In the bright light of the midday sun, the sentiment made her feel a little foolish.

Miss Phryne and Uncle Jack had grabbed a table and were placing out lunch.  They led Jane and her mother over, and soon the four of them were tucking in to Mr. Butler’s picnic. The visit went better than Jane had ever hoped for. Her mother was completely lucid; she was able to listen to Jane talk about school and what she was reading and even ask questions of her own. By the time they were devouring the first of the birthday cakes Mr Butler had made for her, Jane could hardly remember why she had been so afraid to visit.

The time went quickly, and Jane was so ecstatic at how well and how happy her mother seemed that she didn’t even notice when Uncle Jack swiped the last ham, cheese, and mustard pickle sandwich – a treat they both acknowledged as the pinnacle of the sandwich arts. Truth be told, she was so relieved at how well her mother was doing that she would have let him have every one.

After the last crumbs of birthday cake had been munched they spend the afternoon playing games. Everything from hide and seek amongst the rose bushed to gin rummy. It meant a lot to have all three of her parents there with her to celebrate her birthday. Miss Phryne even joined in with the card games – which she usually hated - although Jane suspected she lost on purpose just to keep herself entertained. It was late in the evening by the time they finally packed up the leftover food, and departed, leaving the remains of their picnic for Anna’s supper. Jane, happy, relaxed and very full of cake, fell asleep in the car on the way home, not opening her eyes again until she found herself being gently shaken by Miss Phryne. 

She knew she had another party with others - Dot and Hugh, Cec and Bert, and the rest of the Wardlow crowd - the next day, so she didn’t protest when her parents suggested she head up to bed. As she lay beneath the soft, sweet-smelling counterpane, hugging Anubis tightly to her, Jane sent up her thanks once again to Khonsu, and dreamed all night of a beautiful man with dark curly hair, wandering the ancient dessert by the light of the moon.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane has a birthday party at Wardlow and comes to a terrifying conclusion about her mother...

Jane was nearly giddy when she woke up the next morning, dreams of Khonsu still lingering on her skin. She pored enthusiastically over the book Uncle Jack had given her, reading through each of the stories carefully, looking for more tales of the gods and their respective powers. It was as if she had discovered a secret, ancient kind of magic the world was foolish enough to have abandoned - and it was all for her. It was hard to drag herself away and join Phryne for breakfast down in the kitchen.

Though Phryne was not a morning person and was therefore not as observant before breakfast, she couldn’t help notice her ward was practically buzzing with repressed excitement.  She assumed it was due to her upcoming party - and possibly the relief at finding her mother so much improved. Jack had already left the house; he had gone into the station early in the hope of getting out in time for the start of Jane’s birthday party, which was to be held at Wardlow that evening.  Phryne was rather enjoying having Jane to herself for once. Jack’s unofficial move to Wardlow (he still kept a small bungalow for appearances’ sake but hardly ever visited it) had been welcome - and not just for the convenience of ravishing him at every opportunity. His developing relationship with Jane had been wonderful to witness. It had given both of them something precious that neither had expected to find; whilst she might be nearly grown, he had found in Jane the child he had never had, and whilst she might call him ‘uncle’, it was plain to see that Jane had found a father in Jack. Still, it was nice to be able to spend some time with her daughter, just the two of them, from time to time.     

It wasn’t till Jane excused herself from the table that Phryne noticed the cut on her leg. 

“Jane darling, what happened?” Phryne asked, stopping her at once to examine the partly healed wound.

“I fell and hit my leg on the edge of a wheelbarrow,” Jane lied. 

She felt guilty lying to Miss Phryne, but she remembered how well her mother was doing and firmed up her resolve.  It was a virtuous lie, and you couldn’t tell adults everything. 

“Next time come to me or Dot and have it cleaned up,” said Phryne, her nursing background edging to the fore. “I think this is going to scar. I’ll ask Dr Mac to look at it tonight.”

“Really it’s nothing,” said Jane. She was a little worried. There was only one person that was harder to fool than her parents, and that was Dr Mac.

Phryne watched Jane as she went upstairs; she could feel a prickle of unease that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. It was hardly like her to worry so over a little injury - she had suffered much worse at Jane’s age - but something in the girl’s manner was off. Phryne was an excellent detective and it was obvious that the cut did not come from any wheelbarrow, but as to the real origin - that was anyone’s guess. She could only hope the girl had not been fighting again.

Back in her bedroom Jane pored over Margaret Murray’s words, her childlike infatuation with the gods and her studious inclination towards scientific enquiry converging to throw up endless questions. She was particularly consumed by questions of supplication efficiency. How often must one appease the gods?  What kind of sacrifices do they require? Were some sacrifices and some gods more effective for some things than others? After his help in healing her mother, her heart of course belonged to Khonsu, but perhaps there were others more suited to her purpose. Perhaps she could cure her mother completely, so she wouldn’t have to live at the sanitorium anymore.

Jane thought back to the Christian god whose inexplicable popularity she had rejected out of hand. Whenever she misplaced something, Dot always made a prayer to St. Anthony. She had explained to Jane how the church had different saints for different things. That’s why she gave her husband Hugh a St. Michael’s medal to wear while he was working as a policeman, and Miss Phryne a St. Christopher’s medal for her car. Looking at Egyptian gods, it would seem that similar principles could be applied, although most of the Egyptian gods were a lot more violent and didn’t seem very bothered about piety. They left that to their worshipers. She thought perhaps her next sacrifice should be to Isis the Healer, Mistress of Magic, in whose mouth is the Breath of Life. There was a story about how Isis tricked the secret name of Ra from the sun god by offering to heal a poisonous snake bite she had herself caused. She was a more powerful goddess than Khonsu, although she also didn’t seem like the sort of person it was a good idea to cross. Clearly, a sacrifice to her would have to be an impressive one; if life had taught Jane anything it was that nothing in this world came for free. Good things always came with a price.

And that’s when it hit her, an ugly, irrational certainty, borne of the guilt and grief and confusion that had been sitting on her soul ever since her mother’s condition had begun to worsen. She, Jane, was getting something for nothing, had been since the very day she arrived at Wardlow. She had Miss Phryne, and Uncle Jack, and Dot and everything that came with it - even a cumbersome but helpful Aunt Prudence. But since nothing in life was free, someone was paying the price. Her mother was paying the price. It was all her fault, this wonderful, unexpected family she had selfishly taken to her heart was the reason her mother was getting worse and worse.

It all made a horrible kind of sense. She had first heard about the downturn in her mother’s health just as she began her journey to Egypt with friends from her boarding school in Paris. It had happened just when Jane was the happiest and most excited she had ever been. Could that be what had caused the downturn in her mother’s health? Anna had certainly regained a measure of her old self once Jane had sacrificed that happiness and came home to her. Perhaps other people might think that she was crazy, but she had proved that there was magic in the world, that there were miracles. Perhaps the gods had been punishing her for her selfishness.

It wasn’t fair. She hadn’t known.

She sank into the horror of the moment, reaching for Anubis and hugging him tight, her fingers squeezing the ankh around her neck, wishing, pleading to her new gods for it not to be true. She had never felt so guilty in all her life. But she had never meant it, it hadn’t been planned. She gritted her teeth and set her chin the way Miss Phryne did when she was determined to get something done. Whatever the cost, Jane knew she would have to make it right, before that though, she had a party to get through.

***

The party that evening was a gay affair with lots of food, music and laughter. All of Jane’s favourite people were there and she was rather proud that not one of them seemed to notice the pall of hurt and guilt that still clung to her. She smiled and laughed at Cec and Bert’s antics, was hugged and fussed over by everybody, all the while feeling strangely detached, as if viewing them all through glass. The food was, as always, delicious, especially the chocolate gateaux which Mr Butler was rightly proud of, but Jane couldn’t taste it, the sweet flavours dissipating to ashes on her tongue. It wasn’t right for her to enjoy this; her mother wasn’t here. She didn’t deserve this happiness, but she was determined that those around her wouldn’t know and wouldn’t suffer for her mistakes. They had been nothing but good to her after all.

This fact was underlined after dinner when Jane received presents from everyone - a homemade knitted sweater from Dot and Hugh, her favourite chocolates from Cec and Bert, a new dress from Aunt Prudence, in a style that told Jane that Phryne was involved in its purchase, and a fountain pen from Mr. Butler. But Mac’s gift eclipsed them all. 

It was an illustrated book of the excavation of Tutankhamen’s tomb, with thirty pages of photographs set in the middle. Jane was amazed. She knew about this book. She had been begging the librarian at Warleigh Grammar for a school copy for nearly a year to no avail. It must have taken months for Mac to acquire it; months and all manner of favours from colleagues overseas and friends at the British Museum. The financial cost, not just of the book but the postage that accompanied it to the Antipodes would have been considerable.

Despite her sour mood the gift managed to render her speechless, she felt quite overcome, and extremely grateful. Mac and Phryne beamed at the excitement on Jane’s face, their little conspiracy well worth all the effort to see the young woman so happy. Jane had suffered more than her fair share of trouble in her short life and richly deserved every moment of happiness her new family could provide. They had all noticed that she had sometimes been a little withdrawn of late, worried about her mother no doubt, although she rarely spoke of it. It was wonderful to see her smile.

The party lasted till quite late. There was dancing and food and drinks - Jane was allowed a little champagne as a birthday treat but the bubbles went up her nose and she wasn’t sure she liked it much. She tried to persuade Mac to let her try some of her whiskey but apparently her birthday luck had run out and she was whisked away by Phryne to join her in a dance. Even Uncle Jack was enjoying the festivities. Not usually one for parties, he hovered on the outskirts, watching events with a small but very contented smile lurking in the corner of his mouth. Before long Phryne had worked her magic and tempted him into a waltz. Those two never could resist the urge to show off.

Of course, anyone with eyes could see they had been sweet on each other for _ages_. Obviously, Jane had done her best to encourage them, but sometimes even clever grown-ups can be very stupid. It seemed to take _them_ forever to cotton on. Now, of course, they were horribly embarrassing all the time, but although she liked to pretend she was utterly disgusted by them, secretly Jane thought it was rather nice.

Watching them together made her heart swell with a heavy kind of happiness that made her head swim. Although part of that might have been the whiskey that Uncle Jack had foolishly left unguarded. It was confusing to be at once so happy and so afraid, to be at the centre of a celebration amongst people she loved so dearly, yet to feel so alone. She combated this confusion by gripping the ankh pendent Phryne had given her, drawing a little life from the magic within. When that didn't work, she compensated with a third surreptitious glass of whiskey, although Miss Phryne spotted that one and raised her eyebrows in a way which indicated it would have to be her last.

It was late when they wished their guests good night and the family made their way up to bed. At sixteen Jane felt she was far too old to be tucked in, but still she was glad when Miss Phryne came in just after she got into bed.

“How did you enjoy your party, Jane?” Phryne asked, placing a kiss on Jane’s forehead, leaving a smudge of lipstick behind.

“It was wonderful.” Jane looked up at her guardian with serious eyes, wanting her to know how much she appreciated everything Phryne had given her. “I really love living here with you, and Uncle Jack too. It’s…” but her usually precocious vocabulary let her down. It could have been the whiskey again, but how do you thank a person who found a grubby little thief at a crime scene, saw the little girl beneath the grime, and without ceremony provided a home and a family?

Phryne hugged her tight, choking back a happy little sob as she wiped away the tears that had escaped to run down Jane’s cheek.

“And we love having you here. Whatever happens, even when you’re grown and off on adventures of your own, you will always have a home here. You know that don’t you?”

Jane nodded, her love for this woman - the mother of her heart, although she rarely let herself acknowledge it - was beyond words. They sat together for some time, hugging in silence, sharing a moment of connection and understanding that was worth more than all the books and trinkets Phryne could ever have bought for her.

It was a strange thing, motherhood, Phryne thought. These tender moments were in many ways so much softer and more vulnerable than she usually allowed herself to be, and yet she thought that if anyone tried to harm this child - young woman, she mentally corrected herself - there had better be someone there to hold her back, because she would readily tear them limb from limb to keep Jane safe. Such a mess of contradictions, the love and terror, the mingled joy and loss as the child she had so briefly known met the woman Jane was destined to become.

They talked a little; Phryne had a case to work on and was likely to be busy over the next few days, but a trip to the beach was planned for the weekend when the inspector was next off work. Phryne kissed her daughter goodnight and padded off to her own bedroom where Jack would be waiting for her. Jane stared at the door for a long time after Phryne had gone, wondering if she could have confided in her, shared her grief and her worries. It was almost tempting. But no...no, she wasn't a child anymore, and there were some things a woman had to face alone. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane is a little bit tipsy and overwhelmed by the complex emotional maelstrom that is her relationship with her mothers. She decides to do something really stupid.

Jane felt comfortable and sleepy. She was just on the cusp of dreams when she woke with a jolt and a feeling of falling, roused by the sound of a voice. It had sounded like her mother, calling out for help.

How could she have been so selfish? She had let herself forget, let herself be happy and loved by Miss Phryne and she had forgotten about her mother who needed her. She felt a powerful wave of guilt. There was no hiding from herself, or the gods. In her sleepy, slightly tipsy state she had wished, if only for a second, that Phryne was her real mother. That the burden of Anna, her illness and the responsibility Jane felt towards her could be lifted from her shoulders, leaving her free to roam the world as Miss Phryne had done, seeking out her own adventures.

After Khonsu had helped her.

She sat up, clasping her hands around her knees in the darkness. She had told Miss Phryne the truth, it _had_ been a wonderful day, and good things don’t come without a cost. If this day went well, what kind of day might her mother have tomorrow? The more life was kind to Jane, the more her mother might suffer. Jane could not let that happen.

The gods would need another sacrifice.

Jane couldn’t cut herself again. Phryne would be sure to notice, and if not her then Dot.  It was a lot harder getting away with things when you were surrounded by guardians who worked as detectives. Then Jane’s eyes fell on Mac’s book. Jane loved that book. To give it up would be a huge sacrifice.  But isn’t that what the gods wanted?  Wasn’t her mother worth more than the book? Jane swallowed and blinked back her tears, she knew what she had to do.

Slowly she put on slippers and a robe, picked up the book and tiptoed out into the dark hallway. She crept past her parents’ bedroom, where muffled, breathless voices indicated that she was unlikely to be overheard and tiptoed down to the kitchen. She found the huge metal pot Mr Butler used to make stew, and she had her stolen lighter in the pocket of her dressing gown, but with the hot weather there was no firewood stocked up in the house. She slipped silently out of the back door and into the garden in search of fuel.  

The late spring weather had been hot and dry so there was plenty of food for a fire. She quickly gathered a mess of dry leaves, dead twigs, placed them in the bowl and set them alight. The kindling caught quickly, and she spent a little time tending it, piling up larger sticks until the blaze was hot and smoking. The sooty yellow flames licked up the inside of the pan, scorching tongues ready to consume and destroy, ready to accept her sacrifice.

She turned to grab Mac’s book, stroking the spine longingly, wishing there was another way but determined to make amends. She had done such an unforgivable thing, she had caused such pain in someone she loved so dearly. Worse, she had wished her away, after they had found each other again when it had seemed impossible. She deserved this pain, she knew. It did not make it easier.

The sound of an owl hooting loudly overhead made her jump in fright and her leg knocked against the handle of the pan. The heavy weight of sticks which had not yet burned had made it unstable and several burning branches slid out, igniting the dry grass at her feet. It had not rained for several days, and dry vegetation was all around her. The fire spread more quickly than she could have imagined, smoke blowing up into her face, choking her. Terrified and not knowing what else to do Jane screamed.

The house lights turned on, and soon Mr. Butler came running out looking uncharacteristically menacing and wielding a cricket bat. Jack came barrelling out after him, barefoot and in pyjama bottoms, sweating in the sudden heat. 

As soon as they realised what was going on both men went to squelch the fire, beating it down with burlap sacks and throwing on buckets of water. In an instant Phryne was there as well, wearing nothing but a silk kimono, which Jane noticed was inside out. She ran straight to Jane, pulling her away from the fire and checking her all over for burns, then holding her so tight Jane thought she’d be squeezed to death.

Soon the blaze was out. Mr. Butler went to the shed to get additional buckets, planning to douse everything with water as to prevent any further incidents. Jack, nearly breathless and completely dishevelled, turned to Jane. His cheeks were hollowed with fear, and the anger that accompanied it sharpened the line of his mouth. 

“What happened?” he demanded, roughly. “How did a fire get started and why are you out in the garden and not in bed?”

Uncle Jack was angry, and he hardly ever got angry and certainly not at her. She could see his ears turn red as he slammed the bucket he was holding down with more force than was necessary. Jane was scared, and somewhere under the shock and terror she could feel the squeeze of guilt for frightening him so much. However, in one respect at least she was Phryne Fisher’s daughter - she never backed down, and whatever fear she felt, she was far too obstinate to show it. She was also sixteen years old - and therefore her response was to stare at her slippered feet in the darkness and shrug.  

Clearly this was not the answer Jack wanted, because he became even more upset, his face now in a grimace, looking like it was about to explode. 

“Answer me young lady!” he yelled, and Phryne shot him a look that could have flayed the skin off a mammoth, torn between keeping close to Jane and getting Jack out of the garden until he calmed down.

Only once had Phryne seen her Inspector like this, when he yelled at the teenage girl whose ill-thought-out vandalism caused a serious car crash. It had been Phryne’s life he had feared for then, his lashing out a scream of loss and newly, painfully realised love. It made sense he should feel that fear for Jane; the two of them had grown so close and with the night’s events he felt blindsided, having thought her safe and fearing the worst. It was disconcerting to witness her single pillar shaken to his foundations like this. She had always been the one to lose control; even when Jane went missing, Jack had been calm and focused, doing everything to keep Phryne’s world from crashing down around her. She owed it to both of them to stay calm and refrain from hitting the love of her life with an axe for daring to shout at her daughter.

Jane was cold and terrified, the water used to douse the fire had soaked through her slippers, destroying a gift she had had from Miss Phryne. In the stark light of adult anger, her prayers, her sacrifices, seemed no more than children’s games, and dangerous ones at that. Worse, what if they meant she was going mad, succumbing to the same dangerous delusions that plagued her mother? Would Miss Phryne send her to the sanitorium as well? She didn’t want to go, didn’t want to be locked away, sedated and restrained by smiling nurses and chemical sleep.

Having no explanation she could possibly give for her behaviour, Jane fell back to playing the card every adopted child has played. She turned on Jack, her anger matching his.

“Why would you care? It’s not your business what I do. You’re not my guardian and you’re not my father.”

Jack recoiled as if he’d been struck a heavy blow, his face flashing with pain for a split second before he shut it down completely. Phryne reached out to touch Jack’s arm before he could make the situation worse.

“Jack, I’m going to take Jane upstairs and put her to bed.” She said with a pointed look, “we will get to the bottom of this later.”

As if coming back to himself, Jack nodded and wordlessly turned towards the kitchen door, his bare feet squelching on the now muddy ground.

Phryne gave him a moment to head upstairs, wanting to keep a bit of distance between the two of them for the time being. The incident had shaken her badly, but she tried not to let it show. As they reached the still darkened hallway, Jane began sobbing and Phryne wrapped her arms around her, sat her down on the first step of the staircase and held her close. She tried to make herself the solid figure of calm that Jack usually was.

“It’s going to be alright,” she promised. “Whatever it is, we’ll solve it together.”

Jane only sobbed harder, clutching at the fine silk of her mother’s robe and spotting the costly fabric with tears. There was nothing left for Phryne to do but guide the girl to bed and hold her fast while she fell asleep.

***

It was still dark out when Phryne felt a hand gently shake her awake. It was Jack, fully dressed and pomaded and clearly ready to go to work.

“What time is it?” she asked.

“About half-past-two in the morning,” Jack replied, keeping his voice low so as not to wake Jane who was still fast asleep. “I got a call from the station, there’s been a development in our case. A body was found in an alleyway near Little Lonsdale Street that matches the description of one of your suspects.”

The two of them had just begun an investigation into a series of high-profile jewel thefts, but this was the first sign that the perpetrator would go as far as violence. Jack wanted his partner with him, but the tense domestic situation hovered between them, clouding the air around the sleeping teenager like thick smoke.

“Phryne.” He looked wretched. “I’m so sorry, I should never have shouted at her.”

“I’m reserving judgement on that until we know what happened. But at that point? No, you shouldn’t have,” replied Phryne dryly. She had noticed Jane’s surreptitious experimentation with Jack’s whiskey and was holding out hope that there might be nothing to the incident but youthful tomfoolery and a nasty fright. Her intuition was screaming at her that things were much worse than that.

Phryne reached out to pull the blanket up around her daughter’s shoulders and tucked her in, drawing Jack out into the hallway so they could talk without disturbing Jane.

“I understand why you were so upset, Jack. I was scared to death myself. If anything happened to her I don’t know what I’d do.”

Jack took her hand in his; her unflappable inspector had returned to her and she was too worried and exhausted to rage at him for his misstep. He was clearly berating himself enough, and if she hadn’t been so paralysed with fear she might have had the same reaction herself. Besides, Jack had never really agreed to take on the role of a father in her household, it had simply happened, and by the time they realised where they were it was too late. Then again, perhaps all parents felt like that from time to time. He was certainly making a far better job of it than her own father - not that that was saying much.

“Can you follow me to the station?” he asked.

Jack was still going to have to go to work; he could hardly claim to be unavailable because of an incident with someone else’s child – he did not officially even live at Wardlow. The understanding they had reached worked very well for their little family, but could occasionally cause difficulties with the outside world. This one was not one that Phryne had foreseen, and for all her worry at Jane’s sudden strange behaviour, there was a tiny little bit of Phryne that rankled at the situation - that it would be her left holding the baby – obviously a ridiculous notion. She ignored the thought and tried for practicality instead. There was work to do.

“I’m not sure I should leave her. If she wakes up she should have someone with her.”      

Jack nodded in agreement. “I’m going to pick up Hugh on the way to the scene, I want someone I trust on this one.”

He gave a slight, wry smile.

“I called ahead and explained that we’d had an incident, and Dot insisted she come and look after Jane. I doubt the Victoria police force has enough manpower to keep her away, even if we were foolish enough to attempt it.”

“Then it’s lucky it has commanding officers who know their business.” She returned his smile weakly, her mind still on Jane, unsure if she could leave her, even in the trusted care of Dot. Still, if the case had truly escalated to murder, all manner of people might be implicated, or in peril. She couldn’t just ignore that.

Phryne looked up at Jack, her voice shaking a little. “She told me last year, when I brought her home…she told me that she was afraid she would become like her mother. Oh Jack, what if it’s true, what if she’s losing her mind?”

Jack pulled Phryne into his chest and held her close.

“I refuse to jump to conclusions based on one incident. And while I don’t know what happened tonight, I do know that Jane seemed perfectly lucid and as infuriatingly mule-stubborn as her mother. That’s very different from Mrs Ross.”

Phryne felt relieved - Jack was right and about more than her daughter’s strange behaviour. Whatever else she was - whoever had given birth to her - Phryne was her mother, heart and soul, and she would do whatever it took to keep Jane safe, even if the dangers were lurking in the girl’s own mind. She kissed Jack on his way to the body in Little Lonsdale Street and returned to Jane’s room, taking an easy chair by the window as she sat and watched her daughter sleep until Dot arrived.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dot arrives with baby Penny to offer support to the family at Wardlow...
> 
> This is a much more fluffy chapter, I think Dot just brings snuggly cinnamon bun feels where ever she goes. It's her super-power.

Phryne heard the key in the kitchen door and slowly went downstairs.  There was Dot, carrying a sleeping Penny Collins in a Moses basket slung over one arm and looking more than a little worried. She took one look at Phryne, deposited the child gently on the kitchen table and poured her employer a drink. Dot then put on the tea kettle and sat across the table, her sweet face growing pale with worry as Phryne relayed the events of the evening.

“Do you think Jane started the fire?” Dot asked, clearly troubled, the words ‘on purpose’ hovering unsaid at the end of the question.

“I don’t know - she wasn’t making a lot of sense afterwards.” Phryne sighed. “I always knew it wouldn’t be easy. She’s gone through so much. But so far she’s been…” _far too good to be true_ was what Phryne was thinking. Intelligent, articulate, wilful and with a strong sense of justice; it filled Phryne full of so much pride to think of the woman her daughter was becoming. Perhaps this was the sound of the other shoe dropping.

“I’m sure she will be able to explain it all in the morning, miss,” Dot reassured her kindly. “And I can sit with her tonight if you need to go and meet the Inspector but…um, he said to tell you to get some rest. Although he also said he didn’t expect you would listen to me.”

“And he was quite correct, Dot. I’ll get myself dressed and be with him as soon as I can.” She was still wearing her dressing gown, although she had at least managed to reverse it, so it was no longer inside out. She looked about ready to collapse, but Dorothy Collins would have sooner gnawed off her own leg than say so.

At that moment Mr. Butler entered, his usually immaculate suit covered in smuts and splashes of mud and a mess of grime covering his hands which were full. In one he was holding a large pan, blackened with soot and the charred remains of the fire, and in the other… 

“I believe this belongs to Miss Jane,” he said, handing Miss Fisher Jane’s treasured gift, the book that Mac had given her for her birthday.

Noticing the wheeze in the older man’s voice, Dot busied herself adding honey to a cup of tea and took the pan to the sink for cleaning whilst Phryne simply stared long and hard at the book in her hands. Jane loved that present, and she knew its value, not just monetarily but the fact that it would be near impossible to replace. Why would she risk bringing it outside and starting a fire?

A faint glimmer of understanding began to dawn, too abstract yet to fully make sense. Phryne remembered a red ribbon, a treasured gift from Janey thrown into the Yarra in a rage the day she realised her sister was not coming home.

“You know, I think the inspector will be able to manage a crime scene by himself this once. I wouldn’t want him to get out of practice.” She announced decidedly; reordering the universe into one which left her feeling less anxious, less like the rug was being pulled out from under her feet.

“I’m sure he can, miss, besides, Hugh will be there to help him. Why don’t you go up and get some rest and I’ll go and sit with Jane in case she wakes?”

Phryne agreed, and when Dot came upstairs, carrying the basket and the baby with her - having helped Mr Butler clear away the tea things and the burnt-up pan - she found Phryne wrapped in a blanket by Jane’s bed, the pair of them sound asleep.  

***

Jane awoke the next morning with the sun so bright she knew she must have slept late.  She looked across the room and saw Dot sitting in the rocking chair, feeding little Penny, who was sucking greedily at her exposed breast.

“Good morning, Jane,” Dot said, motherhood having cured her of any lingering embarrassment about being in state of undress around other women.

“Miss Phryne said to let you sleep as late as you could, and I thought you might like to play with the baby today. How are you feeling?”

Jane looked around her room. She had never had the heart to tell Dot that she tended much more towards Miss Phryne’s view of babies than Dot’s - although when she wasn’t screaming or mysteriously sticky, Penny Collins was really very sweet.

“What time is it?” Jane asked, her head still muzzy with retreating dreams.

“About eleven o’clock in the morning.” Dot replied. “Are you hungry?”

Penny appeared to have had her full because Dot held her to her shoulder, righting her clothing with her other hand. She patted the baby on the back, eliciting a belch that seemed much too loud for Penny’s tiny body, then placed her gently back into the Moses basket where she promptly fell asleep, wearing the smug, contented look common to all recently fed babies.

Suddenly Jane remembered last night. Did Dot know what happened?

“Did Miss Phryne tell you…” she began, with no idea how she could continue the sentence or explain herself.

Dot sat on the bed and took her hand. 

“Yes, Jane. We were all very worried, but no one is angry with you. We just want to know what happened.”

Jane began to cry. “Uncle Jack is angry,” she replied. “And I don’t know what Mr. Butler thinks…I don’t want anyone else to know.” She began to sob again, her head ached, and her limbs felt weak, as if she was recovering from some terrible illness.

“Jane, I want you to calm yourself and listen to me.” said Dot firmly.

Jane nodded. 

“The Inspector was upset last night, he’d been given a fright, and he reacted in anger.” Dot smoothed Jane’s hair back from her face and offered her a handkerchief. “But I’ll let you in on a secret - his bark is worse than his bite.”

“How do you know?” Jane asked. Dot was, as a rule, very respectful to those she still, on some level, considered her betters, and Jane had never heard her talk like this.

“Well, when I first met him he questioned me as a murder suspect. I was so frightened - he asked so many questions and he was so stern, but he was never angry. He only gets angry when someone he cares about is in danger.”

Jane nodded, remembering her own first meeting with the Inspector, how cross and intimidating he seemed. It wasn’t who he was really, she had learned that soon enough, but even then, he never shouted, not like he had done last night. She picked up Anubis and hugged him, frowning. She must have scared him a lot for him to be so angry.

That ball of liquid guilt that seemed to be forever churning in the pit of her stomach sloshed acid and sickness up towards her throat. It was her fault. Again. Just as it was her fault that her mother was losing herself a piece at a time to madness.

Oblivious to the self-recrimination playing out in Jane’s head, Dot continued.

“He and Miss Phryne both care about you very much, and I will tell you another little secret,” she looked around surreptitiously as if searching for hidden observers, “I like you the best of all my sisters. Only don’t tell Lola.”

Dot felt a little guilty for that, it wasn’t really a fair comparison and she would probably have to bring it up in confession, but Jane’s weak little smile at the sentiment made it more than worth it. She decided that any further interrogation would need to be done once the girl had eaten. She looked pale and shaken still, and there were dark circles under her eyes, still red with tears. It looked as if she had not been sleeping well.

“Now,” she continued in a more business-like tone. “I’m going to go downstairs and make you a tray to bring up so you can eat, and then I’m going to draw you a bath, and you can have a nice, long soak. That always makes Miss Phryne feel better.”

“Is she here?” Jane asked, a little worried that her guardian’s absence signified anger, despite Dot’s reassurances to the contrary.

“She stayed with you all night, despite me trying to get her into bed more than once.” There was a fondness in the young woman’s voice tinged slightly with amused exasperation, as if at a wayward child. It was remarkable the change motherhood could bring to a person. “She and the Inspector have gone to meet Dr Macmillan at the morgue.”

Jane nodded, relief at Phryne’s care for her battling with the all-pervasive guilt at the trouble she was causing. Just then there was a knock at the door, and Dot opened it to reveal Mr. Butler holding a tray filled with food. He placed it on the small table with a cheerful nod to Dot.

“Good morning, Miss Jane. I hope you are feeling better today.” His voice was still a little raspy from the smoke, but otherwise he was his cheerful, unflappable self.

Jane jumped up off the bed and hugged the man with the unselfconscious exuberance of a child.

“I’m so sorry, Mr Butler. I never meant for you to get hurt.”

“That’s quite alright miss, no harm done.” He patted her shoulder and she released him, allowing him to extract something from the tray beside the plate of sandwiches. It was the book that Mac had given her.

“Miss Phryne asked me to return this to you, miss. The cover got a little damp, but apart from that it appears undamaged. I dried it out in front of the oven for you.”

Jane took the book, feeling even more guilty, and lowered her eyes to it, not sure of what to say. Luckily Mr Butler was a consummate professional, and also very fond of Jane. He ignored the girl’s embarrassment and turned to Dot instead.

“I’ve brought enough for lunch for two, but there’s more downstairs if you need it. I need to make a trip to Victoria markets so just help yourselves.”

He would have to replace the pan that Jane had ruined. The evidence from their brief and futile attempt to clean it had shown conclusively that it had been used to house a makeshift bonfire, and they had found Phryne’s lighter, rendered useless with water, on the ground close by. Why Jane had decided to do something so uncharacteristically dangerous, Dot couldn’t even begin to guess, but Miss Phryne seemed to think she might have been trying to destroy the wonderful book that Dr Mac had given to her. It didn’t make any sense to Dot, but she was determined to get to the bottom of the matter. Penny had begun to grizzle in her basket, so she picked her up and rocked her vaguely, watching the young woman before her as she began to eat.   

The food did help; Mr Butler made delicious pickles to go with his sandwiches and this was one of Jane’s favourites. Each bite seemed to bring her back a little from the deep hole she felt she had dug herself into. As for explaining last night, though, Jane didn’t know what she would do. Who would understand?  Would Dot, because she was religious? Or would she be the worst person to tell, seeing her prayers to Khonsu and Isis as blasphemy? Perhaps it would be better to make up a story than to risk being thought mad and end up locked up along with her mother.

“Jane?” Dot asked her, her voice gentle and free from recrimination. “Why did you start that fire?”

“I…I like bonfires, I just wanted one as a…as a treat for my birthday. I never meant for the pan to tip over. It was an accident, I swear!” her tremulous voice became stronger as she told the tale, the last part of the story even had the benefit of being true - Miss Phryne always said you should lie as little as possible, as falsehoods always caught you out in the end.

Dot suspected that there was more to the story - it did not explain what the book was doing out there with her for a start - but decided not to push the matter just now. Perhaps Miss Phryne or the Inspector would be able to get more out of her when they returned.

Once Jane had finished eating, Dot handed her a now happy and gurgling Penny, who Jane took with an unusual feeling of kinship for the little wriggling bundle. Penny’s eyes, light brown and unusually sharp for such a young child, locked onto Jane’s as she held her, her fat little fist reaching out to grasp Jane’s finger.

“There you go, Pen, you go to auntie Jane now, while I run her a bath.”

Jane felt a rush of relief and gratitude at those words. Dot at least did not think her mad or dangerous, although whether that would last if she ever found out why Jane had started that fire she couldn’t be sure. It would have to stay her secret.

Dot got up and began to run the bath, the sweet scent of vanilla wafted from the tub, rich and inviting. Little Penny, who had begun to smell very suspicious, was exchanged for some fresh towels, and Dot left to change the baby whilst Jane settled in for a soak.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dot discovers Jane's secret and Jane is terrified of the possible consequences...
> 
> TW for self-harm on this chapter.

Jane sank into the warm, soothing water, inhaling the delicious scent of the vanilla and honeysuckle bath salts. It reminded her of her very first day at Wardlow, when Dot had given Jane her first real bath. Until then she had only had cat baths, and sinking into the fresh, clean water whilst Dot oiled and combed her hair had been one of the high points of her life. She had felt so safe and cared for as Dot chatted away, telling her all about Miss Fisher and how kind she was. She had not been wrong.

Jane sank under the water, wetting her hair, listening the clang and echo as her limbs made contact with the sides of the tub. It was peaceful under the surface, but not enough to calm the sickness in her stomach. When she resurfaced, she noticed the scab on her knee had started to bleed again as the water softened it.

Had it been such a foolish thing to pray for her mother? Dot prayed every day, she knew, and what made her god any more real than Khonsu - was it just a matter of numbers, of more people believing in him? No-one would say that Dot was mad to do so, and there were many other faiths - Hugh had been a Protestant before he converted to marry Dot. Had he prayed? If so, it was considered well within the bounds of sanity. Obviously, burning books was not a good option. Too much could go wrong, but that did not necessarily mean that the whole enterprise should be abandoned.

She traced the line of the cut with her finger, the sting as she placed pressure a welcome distraction from the swirling, unfocused grief and guilt clouding her mind. She was still here, enjoying all of these comforts whilst her mother was being put to sleep again by the Doctors and who even knew if she would wake up this time. And she had been so ungrateful, to Miss Phryne and Uncle Jack, to Mac who had given her a wonderful present that she had wanted more than anything. She didn’t deserve this family, not when she had abandoned the mother who needed her. She was not a nice girl. 

Somewhere dimly in the back of her head she could hear Miss Phryne’s voice.

_‘I’ve never been very nice either, so you’re just the kind of girl I like.’_

But it was no use, if she knew how truly wicked Jane was, even Miss Phryne would probably turn from her, would throw her out, more than likely. Perhaps she would anyway - Jane had nearly burned down her beautiful home, and why would Miss Phryne want to keep her around after that? A horrible thought struck her. What if Miss Phryne stopped paying for her mother’s care after she threw Jane out? Anna was too ill to work or to do anything much, Jane would have to look after her. At least she was too old now for Welfare to take her away again, but she would never get to go to university and do all the things she dreamed. She would never go to Egypt.

She was out of the bath and kneeling by her bed without exactly knowing how she had got there, the knife held in her shaking hand. Perhaps it was all make believe, but it was all she had.

Uncle Jack’s book was still by the bed so she opened it to a story about Isis and uttered a short heartfelt prayer for her mother. It was more desperate than poetic this time - a cry of fear and desperation, screaming into an unfriendly void in the hope of finding any kind of solace. She took a flannel piece from the bath to wipe up the blood; there had to be some place on her body that Miss Phryne wouldn’t notice, there was no use giving her a reason to send her away. She looked at her feet. She could always hide her feet in socks or shoes.

The slash was fast and deep, on the inside of her foot, right below the ankle. Once again, she felt that rush of adrenaline, numbing a little of the sting and making her pulse race. It hurt more this second time, but even the pain came as a relief, blocking out the anguish and the irrational certainty that she was about to lose all she had. That her mother, both her mothers, would leave her for good.

She was not prepared for the amount of blood. It was obvious the flannel would not be enough to hold it, and she began to drip in scarlet drops onto the carpet.

“Shit,” she muttered - a word which Dot surely did not realise she knew.

“Jane, would you like me to help you with your hair,” asked Dot, as she opened the door, having put Penny down for a nap in her old bedroom.

Jane looked up and saw Dot’s face etched in horror. The look lasted only a moment before she sprang into action, pure determination taking over. Grabbing a towel, Dot wrapped it around Jane’s naked shoulders, holding the end to the cut to put pressure on the wound.

“Jane put that knife on the floor. Now.”

Jane did as she was told, her hands still shaking as she dropped the knife. Dot did not often give orders, but it didn’t even occur to Jane not to obey. Her foot was still bleeding.

“Mr. Butler,” called Dot, hoping to God the man had not yet left for the market. Jane was horrified that he would see this, but her protests fell on deaf ears. 

“Mr. Butler please come upstairs,” Dot called.

“Please Dot, please,” Jane whispered, but Dot would not listen. It was just as she had feared. They would all think she was crazy, and they would send her away. She started to cry, some small, detached part of her wondering where she had been keeping all the tears she had shed over the past few days. Normally, she never cried at all. 

Mr. Butler came at Dot’s call, already in his greatcoat and ready to leave. As ever, the scene - Jane wrapped securely in a towel, bleeding profusely with his missing vegetable knife at her feet - passed without censure or comment.

“I’ll telephone Dr. Macmillan directly, I’m sure she will be willing to make a house call.”

“Thank you, Mr Butler. And please check the morgue and at City South for Miss Phryne and tell her she’s needed at home at once.” Dot added, still holding the towel tight to Jane’s wound.

Mr. Butler departed for the telephone and Jane sobbed even harder. She knew that she would have to tell Miss Phryne the truth, and probably Dot and Mac too. She was sure no one would understand. She wasn’t sure she even understood herself.

Dot managed to stop the bleeding with the towel and covered Jane up properly in her robe before Mr. Butler returned. He had brought up bandages and a glass with a powder already mixed in, removing the bloody knife from the floor without comment. By the time Dot had bandaged her foot, a little inexpertly though better than the towel, Jane could hear voices downstairs. Miss Phryne must have driven like the wind to get here so soon.

Dot went to the top of the stairs to apprise the newcomers of the situation, and before long Phryne and Mac were in her room. Jane could hear Uncle Jack in the background still talking to Dot but could not make out what they were saying. Between the powder and the loss of blood her head was swimming and she lay back against the pillows.

Mac undid the bandage, and looked directly at Jane, her face deadly serious.

“You made this wound yourself, didn’t you Jane?” asked Mac.

Jane nodded her head mutely, her tears all used up, and braced herself for the inevitable; the diagnosis, the rejection.

Phryne was pale and looked slightly nauseous, staring at Jane with a look the girl had never seen on her guardian’s face before. It took her a moment to realise that it was fear.

“The cut on your knee, the one that you told me you got falling over a wheelbarrow - did you make that one yourself as well?” Phryne asked, although it was clear she already knew the answer.

Jane, desperate, looked anywhere but at Phryne, wishing she could just run away and hide. She felt the mattress yield and a pair of slim arms wrap around her shoulders; shuddering, she gave in, resting her head against Miss Phryne’s chest and breathing in slowly, still waiting for a punishment, or anger, but it never came. She only felt the steady stroke of gentle fingers against the wet hair that was spotting the silk of her mother’s blouse.

Mac let this go on for about a minute before gently nudging Phryne out of her way. Adopting her brisk physician mode, she examined Jane’s knee, bandaging both wounds with deft fingers, ensuring they would not come loose whilst Jane slept. 

“There. Now, are there any more I should be worried about?”

Jane shook her head and when she saw that Phryne looked both worried and sceptical, she removed her robe, so the two women could see her otherwise unmarked skin. She felt numb with grief and fear, too exhausted now even for tears.

Once she was satisfied that her patient was not in any immediate danger, Mac went to retrieve Dot, who stayed to help Jane into her pyjamas and back to bed. Phryne stayed close, holding her daughter’s hand and stroking it, unsure what to say to her.

“I need to go and speak with Uncle Jack a moment. I’ll be right back and then we can talk. Is that alright, Jane?”

Fear gripped Jane’s heart again and somehow the words slipped out before she could stop them.

“Please don’t send me away, I’m not crazy. _Please_.”

Phryne looked at her in shock for a second before throwing her arms around her once more, hugging her tightly as if she couldn’t bear to ever let her go.

“No, Jane, never, I would never send you away. I love you so much.” This last was said in a whisper, her face pressed into her daughter’s shoulder.

Jane knew Miss Phryne loved her, and this was not the first time she had said so, but more often she liked to show her feelings rather than articulate them. Phryne’s love came in presents and shared adventures, kindness and good advice; a shoulder to cry on and someone who would always, always listen, and take whatever Jane had to say seriously. It was good to hear the words though, good to remind herself of what they meant. She was safe here, and she could trust Miss Phryne.

It took some time before either of them could speak again, and it was Phryne who broke the silence.

“Whatever made you think that?” she had mastered the crack in her voice with a herculean effort but there were tear smudges around her eyes.

“I thought if you knew you’d send me to Meadow Falls, like my mother. I don’t ever want to go to one of those places.”

“And you never will, I promise. We are going to take care of you and make sure you get better.”

Jane searched Phryne’s face for any sign of a lie and found none. It was as if a huge weight had been lifted, and she lay back against the pillows with a sigh and a hiccup.

Phryne could see the girl visibly relax and leaned in, stroking her hair in what she hoped was a reassuring manner. It was amazing how murder and mayhem could descend without ruffling her feathers at all, but the thought that Jane might not know how much she was loved was like an icy dagger to her heart. She would just have to try harder to ensure sure the girl had no doubts.

“You know you can tell me anything, don’t you Jane? You never have to keep secrets from me.”

Jane nodded, not quite ready to share, but feeling like the ground had at least stopped shifting under her feet. She attempted a mischievous smile that almost worked.

“It was me who kept sneaking gnomes into the garden,” she admitted, not very apologetically.

“That is not exactly a secret, I don’t suppose you would be willing to reveal the names of your accomplices?”

“Well you can’t expect me to lag!”

Phryne laughed. It wasn’t really funny, but the feeble joke was reassuring nonetheless.

“Will you be alright if I leave you with Dot for a little while?”

Jane nodded, settled back on the pillow, and even though she had barely risen from bed an hour before, closed her eyes. She was asleep by the time Dot and little Penny came back into the room.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane finally tells Phryne and Jack about her troubles and Jack shares a story from his past...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nearly done now, the final chapter will be posted on Sunday and that's a fluffy one to end on. Thanks for sticking with us! Also ngl this chapter is probably my favorite.

Phryne stepped into the hall and slumped, her back against the wall, trying to breathe calmly. She knew Jane was upset about her mother, but this…she’d had no idea of the extent of it. Her child, her precious Jane, had been in so much pain and she hadn’t known. She had been so busy, wrapped up in her work and her life that she had missed all the vital clues that might have told her something was wrong. And she called herself a detective. She had promised Jane that they would help her, that she would get better, but as Phryne descended the stairs in search of Mac and Jack she could feel the panic rise. What if they were too late, what if there was nothing that could be done? It was all her fault.

She found Jack and the Doctor in the parlour; Mr Butler, who had already laid out a tray of tea and sandwiches appeared as if by magic with a glass of whiskey and she drank it down gratefully, collapsing onto the chaise next to her partner.

She turned to Mac, assuming she would have filled Jack in on the details.

“Is she trying to kill herself, Mac?” her voice held an eerie calm as she spoke, and she felt Jack stiffen and squeeze her fingers in his large hand as she forced herself to breathe, slow even breaths. She was no good to Jane if she fell apart.

Mac shook her head slowly. 

“I don’t think so. Neither wound is placed close to a major vein or artery. She’s a bright girl, she would know those cuts wouldn’t be enough to cause major damage. You said you think she was trying to burn the book I gave her?” Mac was clearly trying to speak with the detachment of her profession but even her stoicism wasn’t proof against this discussion, her voice shook a little and she too accepted a medicinal drop from Mr Butler before she sat down.

Jack nodded, “It looks that way but it’s all circumstantial evidence at this point.”

“As I am fairly sure she doesn’t have anything against me, and she was clearly delighted with the book when I gave it to her, I’d say she’s trying to punish herself for something.” Mac suggested, grim-faced.

“But she’s done nothing wrong! Why would she ever think she needed to punish herself?” said Phryne indignantly.

Jack and Mac exchanged a glance, both well aware that Phryne had long since blamed herself for the loss of her sister, a weight that should never have been hers to carry. Distressed she might be, but Miss Fisher was still a detective, she read the silent exchange with perfect accuracy and made to protest, Jack however cut across her.

“There’s no point in speculating. We need to sit down and talk to her. Let’s stay calm and see what she says.”

Phryne rounded on him sharply, her anger and frustration spilling over a little more forcefully than she intended.

“Are you going to stay calm?”

“Yes,” he replied, with a seriousness that she trusted implicitly. “I’m too worried not to. Can you?”

Phryne nodded, forcing the panic down, grounding herself in his steady, reassuring stillness.

“Come with me?” she added, without ever questioning that he would.

“Of course.”

Mac finished her whiskey and nodded at the pair of them.

“You do that, and make sure she’s not worried about the book. I’ll come back and check on her later, but right now I have a cadaver at the morgue that needs my attention.”

The detectives waved her off, jewel theft and murder relegated to utter irrelevance. Some things were simply more important.

 

 

Jack and Phryne entered Jane’s room to find her awake and playing quite cheerfully with little Penny. She was making Anubis hide behind various pillows and pop up to surprise her. The little girl was giggling with the hoarse, strangely deep laugh of a young baby and Dot was in the rocking chair, knitting what appeared to be a jumper. One look at Phryne’s face and Mrs Collins got the hint.

“I think Penny could use some lunch, Jane. Let me take her downstairs for a moment and you can play again later.”

Not even Phryne, who made a point of knowing nothing at all about babies, was convinced that the happy, gurgling Penny was in need of food, but the pretext was enough to leave them alone with Jane, who shifted anxiously on the bed as she heard mother and child descend towards the kitchen. Phryne came and sat beside her, reaching out once again to take her hand in reassurance whilst Jack kept his distance, leaning against the mantelpiece over the tiny bedroom fireplace.

“Jane,” he began. “I’m sorry I got angry with you last night. I’m not angry now and neither of us is going to punish you, but we would like you to tell us what’s going on. Can you do that?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” Jane replied, warily, still uncertain of their response.

“I can’t promise we will,” Phryne said. “But we promise to try.”

Jane nodded, still toying with Anubis, her fingers stroking the silky fur. She looked so young, far younger than her sixteen years.

“It was just a game really. I know it wasn’t real. I’m _not mad_.”

“We know you’re not mad Jane, you can tell us.” Phryne kept stroking her hair whilst Jack watched her from the mantel, his serious face betraying love and worry in a way it so rarely did.

“There was a story, in the Margaret Murray book. It was about the god Khonsu and how he could cure illness, even when no one else could. I thought I could ask him…to help my mum.”

Phryne looked at Jack in alarm, thoughts of Murdoch Foyle and his twisted obsession with the gods of Egypt tapping directly into her worst fears. Jack made his way to the bed, briefly squeezing Phryne’s shoulder before taking a seat on the other side of Jane. Phryne rose and went to fetch glass of water from the pitcher on the dresser. She trusted Jack more than she trusted herself at this moment; taking a steady breath she beat back her demons, determined that Jane should not see them. The girl had enough of her own to be getting along with after all.

Jane took the water Phryne offered and drank whilst Jack continued to talk in the low, soothing tone he used with victims and witnesses, keeping his voice steady by something close to a miracle.

“And this Khonsu, he wanted you to cut yourself?”

Jane paused, then shook her head slowly. “Not really. I thought, if it was going to work I’d need to make a sacrifice, but he never spoke to me really. It was just me,” she looked up at her parents’ worried faces. “I know how it sounds, but I’m afraid she’ll never get better and I’m so happy here.  I’ve left her there all alone and there’s nothing else I could think to do to help her.”

She began to cry again, now that she had said it out loud it sounded so ridiculous she wouldn’t blame Miss Phryne if she had her shut up in a sanitorium, whatever she had promised.

Phryne handed her a handkerchief, swallowing her own tears for her daughter’s sake, but again, it was Jack who spoke.

“Jane, come here,” he said, and held out his arms. 

She looked up at him in trepidation, not knowing what to expect, and to her surprise he put both arms round her and hugged her close. He had never done that before. He began to rock her gently back and forth, his arms around her.  It was the first time Jane had ever been held like this, surrounded by fatherly love and protection, and she felt safe and soothed, her tears slowly drying and giving way to gentle hiccups as her father held her, and her mother smoothed her hair. Uncle Jack rocked her for several minutes, and when she was finally relaxed, he spoke.

“Jane, I want you to listen carefully to me. You think we wouldn’t understand what you’re feeling, but I do understand. I understand very well.”

Jane placed her head on his shoulder and listened.

“When I was in the war there was suffering all around me.  After a while, I began to question it.  Why did one person die, and another one survive? Why was I still alive, while others had perished?”

He paused for a moment, trying to find the words to tell a story he had never thought to share, especially with someone so young. 

“I started to feel guilty. As if somehow my being alive meant they had to die. It didn’t make any sense. But I felt it nonetheless. One day we were out on patrol and came under fire. The lad behind me got wounded in the leg. He had to be no more than six inches away and he was wounded badly. We carried him back to the medical tent, where they found the only way to save his life was to amputate the leg.”

Jane could see the pain in Uncle Jack’s eyes at the memory and for a moment she thought he might not continue, but he did.

“There was no anaesthesia available. A few men held him down while the doctor sawed off his leg. I was outside the tent while they did it. I could hear him scream. I felt so relieved I wasn’t the one in pain, the one losing a leg, and then I felt guilty, tremendously guilty, that I wasn’t in pain, that I was the one who got to keep his leg. I remember I dug my nails into my upper arm, hard, as if feeling some pain would take away some of his. When I looked down, I saw blood trickling down my arm, where I had dug into my flesh. And quite frankly, it relieved some of my guilt.”

Jane lifted her head and looked up at his face. There were tears in his eyes. She looked at Miss Phryne, and there were tears in hers too.

“It wasn’t your fault, though, that he was shot,” Jane responded.

“No Jane, it wasn’t,” Jack answered.  “And feeling that pain might have given me a sense of doing something, but it didn’t do anything for him. It was terrible to admit to myself, but there was nothing I could do for him.”

“It’s the same with you and your mother Jane,” Miss Phryne added.  “We know you want to help her. We know it is hard for you to see her like she is, but making yourself suffer won’t help her suffer any less, even if it feels like it might.”

“What you can do,” and here Jack caught Phryne’s eye for a second, “is to take a page out of Miss Fisher’s book and live life to the hilt whenever you can. I can promise you your mother would never wish for anything less.”

Jane smiled, and it was a genuine smile, and once again she felt a little of the weight lift from her gut. She was safe, she was loved, and so was her mother. That would be true, even if Anna never got better. It was not much, but perhaps it was enough for now.  

“It was so easy to believe that the gods of Egypt were helping me,” said Jane. “It seems so stupid now.”

“Hope is never stupid,” said Uncle Jack, giving her shoulder another squeeze.

“Nevertheless, no one - god or man - who demands your blood in return for favours is worth your time or consideration.” Phryne insisted fervently, dropping a kiss to Jane’s hair. “You are far too precious for that.”

Jack couldn’t hold back an affectionate smile at that, and Jane, who never usually doubted anything Phryne told her, decided this was good advice. She was still a little worried though.

 “What are you going to tell everyone?”

“What do you think we should tell them?” Phryne asked. 

“How about just that I was feeling unwell, but I’m better now?”

“I think that will do nicely. As long as you promise you will talk to us, or to Dr Mac if you feel this way again?”

Jane readily agreed to the deal but stopped abruptly. She had forgotten all about Dr Mac.

“Oh no! Dr Mac! I never said I was sorry about her book.”

She had not told her parents that she had intended to burn the precious gift, but they seemed to have worked this out by themselves. They were detectives after all.

“She told us to tell you not to worry about that, and she will be back to see you again tomorrow, so you can tell her then,” said Phryne in a matter-of-fact tone, not wanting Jane to invent more reasons to become anxious. “Now, it’s well into the afternoon and you are still in your pyjamas. How about you get up and come downstairs. I’m sure Penny is eager to resume your game of peek-a-boo.”

Jane agreed, and they spent a pleasant afternoon with Dot and Penny. Jack telephoned the station telling them he would not be back today and even Phryne declined to resume her investigating. The corpse would still be there in the morning, and some things were simply more important.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of fluff to round off the story. Thanks for sticking with us and for all your comments and kudos - you guys are the best!

After a supper of scones and clotted cream, with Mr Butler’s special blackberry jam, Hugh arrived to take Dot and Penny home, and to brief the detectives on the ongoing jewel case. It seemed that with Mac’s help he had managed to track down the perpetrator without them - and extracted a full confession to both the thefts and the murder. This earned him an enthusiastic ‘bravo Hugh!’ from Miss Fisher and a gruff yet proud ‘excellent work, Collins,’ from Inspector Robinson.

Once the excitement was over and the Collins family had departed for the night, Jane went up to her bed, slipping between the sheets and picking up the book that Mr Butler had returned to her. The water they had used to douse the fire had marked the cover and left little scars on the pages where it had seeped in, but the words and the pictures were as clear and fascinating as ever. She touched the image of the gold sarcophagus in which the famous king had been entombed. Perhaps Uncle Jack was right, and she could help her mother by doing all the things that Anna couldn’t do. Perhaps she would make it to Egypt after all.  

She was about to turn off the light, when she heard a soft knock, and Uncle Jack entered the room. He sat on the bed and dropped a light kiss onto her forehead; he was holding a copy of Henry Lawson’s _When I Was King_. It was one of the books her mother used to read to her when she was little, and somehow it felt right for Jack to read it to her now.

“Uncle Jack,” she near whispered.

“Yes, Jane?”

“What I said last night, about you not being my father. I didn’t mean it. I mean, I know you’re not my father but… I’d like it very much if you were.”

“Thank you, Jane. I will do my very best,” he promised, his voice cracking a little as he looked down at the daughter he never thought he would have and swore to himself that he would live up to her request if it was the last thing he did.

Jane cuddled down under the blankets and closed her eyes as Uncle Jack began to read, the words fading out until all she could hear was the sound of his low voice murmuring the familiar verses. It was the sound of love, security and safety and she trusted it completely - as much as she trusted Miss Phryne, or Dot, or Dr Mac. She smiled up at him as he finished the poem and closed the book.

“Goodnight, dad,” she said sleepily, unaware of how much the word meant to him.

“Goodnight, love,” his voice so low she could barely hear it and, content, she drifted off to sleep

It was quite some time afterwards that Phryne entered the room to see Jack gazing upon their daughter with a look of such fondness and affection it melted her heart. She smiled at him and took his hand, switching out the light as they left the room.

***

Phryne and Jack were curled up together in bed. It was still quite early but for once neither made a move to escalate the situation beyond a well-earned cuddle. It had been a very hard few days and there was a lot to be said for just holding each other and sharing comfortable silence.

Phryne however was rarely quiet for long and this rather extreme test of her parenting abilities had forced her to consider matters carefully.

“You’re a good father, Jack,” Phryne said. “It wasn’t something I thought about per se, when I thought about us. I felt Jane was my responsibility, but you’ve become more than just a friend to her and I’m grateful.”

“I’m sure you could have managed without me,” he replied with that half-smile Phryne had grown to love.

“I’m sure I could, and I can certainly vouch for the benefits of having no father over one like mine, but,” she looked up at him with perfect sincerity, “I don’t think I ever even considered the benefits of having a good one, not until I saw the two of you together.”  

“She… she called me dad. Just before she went to sleep.” His voice was hoarse again and unlike Jane, Phryne knew full well what that sentiment might mean to him.

“Clearly she has excellent taste. I can’t imagine a better candidate,” she smiled briefly before becoming serious once again. “What you told her tonight, it really helped her,” Phryne whispered. “Thank you for sharing that, I know it can’t have been easy.”  She rubbed his chest softly as she said it, trying to bring comfort to the pain of an old wound.

“I think you have a similar story,” Jack said gently. “About Janey.”

Phryne shook her head sadly; she had known this was coming.

“That’s not the same thing Jack,” she said, her belief in her own culpability still too strong to overcome. “I was supposed to be watching her and I lost her. I should have kept her safe.”

But Jack tightened his hold on her shoulder and held her firmly in place. He kissed her hair and said, “I’d be a lousy partner if I didn’t continue to dismiss those charges. You, blaming yourself for that is no different than Jane, me or anyone else feeling guilty for things we couldn’t possibly control.”

She shook her head slightly but said nothing, holding him tight and trying to take a comfort in his words that she felt did she not deserve. It got a little easier every time he said them, and somehow, he seemed to know it, because he grasped her hand where it still lay against his chest and continued.

“I know it doesn’t feel that way.  But it is that way, and I’m going to keep saying it until it starts to feel that way. It’s my job as your partner, and your friend, to keep saying it.”

Phryne raised her head from his chest to kiss him in gratitude, and for the first time she thought she could almost believe him. She drew back to look at him for a moment, taking in the strong lines of his face, so steady and sure and hers. She reflected that there was a lot to be said for having a good man as a partner, as well as a good father to your child. She didn’t say it, though; one of the many wonderful things about their partnership was that such things rarely needed to be said.

She placed her head back against his chest and changed the subject.

“I wonder sometimes what would have happened to Jane, our Jane, if I hadn’t decided to take her in, or if you hadn’t helped us. Would I have done it, if I’d not seen something of Janey in her?”

He looked at her in surprise. “It’s not like you to worry about the what-ifs and might-have-beens.”

She offered him a wry smile. “It has been known to happen.” She gave him a wry smile. “Perhaps you are rubbing off on me, Inspector.”

He rolled his eyes a little but refused to let her deflect attention from the confession with innuendo.

“If you are going to adopt some of my foibles may I recommend my inexcusable respect for the speed limit?”

Phryne laughed in a way that clearly indicated this was very unlikely and Jack continued more seriously.

“It’s no good dwelling on what might have happened. Would I have stayed with Rosie if we had children, even though neither of us would have been happy? Probably. Or, if there had never been a war, would I have continued building my career and climbing the social ladder by her side? I don’t know.”

He stroked a finger across Phryne’s jaw, pulling her face to his so he could kiss her, not as seduction, but more as punctuation, an underlining of his point.

“But what I do know,” he continued as if he had not interrupted himself, “is that what we have now, our family, me and you and Jane. It’s better than anything I could have wished for.”

Phryne nodded in agreement. Their life was a far cry from anything she would have predicted for herself when she stepped off that boat from England in 1928, and without a doubt it was infinitely better.

“It’s not going to be easy is it? Jane, I mean. She’s not going to recover from this overnight.”

She spoke with the conviction of a woman who had carried a heavy burden of guilt for decades and was only now, slowly, learning to set it down.

“No,” Jack agreed. “But an infuriatingly observant woman once told me that nothing that matters ever is. And whatever happens to Mrs Ross, Jane will still have us.”

It didn’t even occur to Phryne to doubt him, a victory in itself for someone who found it hard to truly place her trust in others, and as she kissed him again in gratitude she considered that her Inspector had got it exactly right.

Nothing that matters is easy, but it’s always a little easier when you don’t have to face it alone.

**Author's Note:**

> All of the chapters are written and we'll be posting 3 per week - Sunday, Wednesday and Friday. 
> 
> I gave Jane a late October birthday which would mean she had just turned 14 in Queen of the Flowers where her age is mentioned as that ep takes place in early November.


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